


The Maid Who Stole His Heart

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Just a whallop of fluff, Original Holmes children, Regency Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Sherlock finds that the woman he loves has been right under his nose all along.Or, in which Sky goes all out on romantic sap, topping it off with a silly romantic title.





	The Maid Who Stole His Heart

Worn and weary, Sherlock Holmes, lord of Bakers Manor, made his way across the field toward home. Redbeard trotted beside him, equally weary. Theirs had been quite the adventure, running across the city of London and back in pursuit of the most odious of men. A man who was not worthy of the title, for he has slaughtered no less than a dozen others with no reason to even attempt to justify his bloodthirst apart from an evil desire to kill.

The sun was breaking over the horizon, putting the past fortnight of tragedy and triumph in the darkness of the night, spreading tendrils of golden light over the rolling fields of his land. And as he trudged up the last slope, he stopped and breathed in deep of the clean air as Bakers Manor finally came into view.

“We’re home, old boy,” he spoke with relief and rubbed Redbeard’s neck soothingly. The faithful horse neighed, as if agreeing, and the two partners resumed their trek, but with a lighter step in their gait.

Coming to the stables, a bright-eyed boy jumped at his lord’s call and left his pitchfork in the hay bale to attend to Redbeard.

“Mighty glad to see you again, sir!”

“It’s good to be home, Archie. I trust you made sure to keep the estate in one piece while I was away.” Sherlock hid his smile when the boy puffed out his chest and nodded eagerly.

“Oh, yes, sir! Not a single brick out of place!”

Sherlock nodded. “Very good, thank you. When you’ve finished your chores and put Redbeard to rest, come inside. I have an announcement to make to the staff.”

Leaving an excited Archie to attend to his faithful steed, Sherlock made his way across the expansive yard to the stone patio.  
Though he knew he should clean his person before meeting any one else, he found he could not wait a moment longer. Loping up the steps, he hurried toward the door that would be the fastest route to the rooms upstairs, where his daughters would be dozing still, no doubt.

So intent upon seeing his girls, he almost missed the sounds emanating from the open doors of the sitting room. But then the faint notes of a piano drifted over to him and he paused, his hand on the door. Turning slightly, he listened.

The pianist was certainly not one of his daughters, lest Georgina, the eldest, somehow improved far beyond her years in the weeks he’d been away. It was a soft, lovely melody played by a practiced hand that tugged at his heart, pulling him in until he found himself standing in the doorway, the fluttering curtains billowing out beside him.

With her back to the rising sun, her brown hair lit in gold and red tones by its rays, his chambermaid danced her fingers across the ivory keys, the enchanting melody an extension of herself. Sherlock stared, unsure of how he had not deduced her talent, and dumbstruck by the sight. A soft smile started to spread across his face and a warmth filled his chest that had nothing to do with the warming of the sun.

Molly. It had only taken him three years to understand just how much he had come to rely upon the faithful maid. And just as long to realize how much he loved her.

“Papa!”

At Georgina’s cry, the lovely melody came to a sudden halt and Molly whirled about, wide-eyed. Sherlock laughed as his three daughters, whom had been sitting on the settee listening, rushed him and enveloped him in their strong little arms. Pressing kisses to their foreheads, he looked up to see Molly trying to slip from the room.

“Miss Hooper,” he called out, silencing his daughters’ barrage of happy exclamations.

Molly froze and he could see the tenseness in her shoulders, the way she gripped the doorknob tightly, her throat convulsing as she swallowed nervously.

She turned around and clasped her hands together, avoiding eye contact, her face colored with shame. “I am sorry, I should not have been so familiar as to assume I could play your pianoforte. Nor be so informal with your daughters.”

Sherlock frowned. What-

She bobbed a curtsy and whirled about, trying to escape once more.

“Wait!” He looked down at his girls, all of whom were looking at him with beaming smiles and knowing eyes. They were his pride and joy, and already as brilliant as himself, even more so if they could already deduce his intentions. Oh, how he loved them. Slowly, they let him go and stepped away, letting him go to Miss Hooper, who was trying her very hardest to look anywhere but at him, her face as crimson as a rose.

“Miss Hooper, please,” he lowered his voice and stopped just out of arm’s reach. “I did not intend to cause you distress. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Warily, she finally met his gaze, looking up at him through long, brown eyelashes. He could see she was confused at his soft tone and still afraid of being turned out. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached out and took her hand in his, feeling the thrill at the touch run up his arm. He swallowed thickly and, ever conscious of their audience, closed the distance between them in a single step. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him and what he saw gave him hope: a longing hidden beneath a mask of propriety and servitude.

Since he’d hired her several years hence, she had made this rambunctious, riotous house into a home; no less rambunctious, but with a little more order. She had no qualms about the many experiments, often gruesome, that he conducted and the other servants had eagerly let her take over the cleaning of his laboratory, which had led to her becoming his right-hand assistant when needed. And she wrangled his wayward daughters into charming young ladies (when the occasion arose), all without stifling their genius, encouraging both their studies as well as their curiosity in all things that society deemed “improper” or “unladylike.” She adored them and they, in turn, were devoted to her. Just like their father.

“In fact, if anyone should be apologetic, it should be me.”

Her brow furrowed ever so slightly.  
Sherlock lifted his hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail delicately over the apple of her cheek. She shivered and blinked repeatedly, her blush darkening, to his delight. “Wh-whatever for?”

He smiled softly. “For letting all this time go to waste.”

His heart pounded in fear and anticipation as she stared up at him, he could almost hear her thoughts and fears. She searched his face, her lovely brown eyes looking for answers to questions she dared not voice.

“A-are you…I-I mean…”

Sherlock lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, lingering enough to allay any further doubts she had. “If you mean, do I intend to announce to the staff this afternoon of my impending marriage, then yes. That is, if you accept my offer,” he smirked and flicked his gaze over to where his daughters were tittering in excitement. “I should inform you, my offer includes three rather unruly, but brilliant little girls who love you,” he lowered his voice and urged her to hear the truth in his words. “Almost as much as I do.”

Tears filled her eyes and she stared at him in shock. Finally, she licked her lips and cleared her throat, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled shakily. “I-I’m afraid I cannot accept an offer that has not been made.”

His knees threatened to give in relief and a smile split his face. “Easily rectified. Molly Hooper, will you-“

“No, papa! Get down on one knee!”  
Sherlock shot his eldest a mock glare for interrupting. The little girl had the audacity to smirk.

“And tell her she’s pretty and that you love her with all of your heart!” Gwen chimed in.

“Yes, thank you children!” His narrowed eyes didn’t even faze the tittering girls.

Molly giggled and covered her mouth with her free hand. They shared a fond look for just a moment, then Sherlock stepped back and knelt down before her. He could feel her racing heartbeat under his fingertips and that gave him the courage to speak.

“I do, you know. Love you with all of my heart, that is. Until only recently, I tried to ignore the way I would smile when you walked in the room and the way my heart would race when I see you with the girls, loving them unconditionally. I was a fool to waste so much time being ignorant of my feelings. No more. And forget social expectation and propriety, I never gave them a moment’s care before and I hardly will now.” He took a deep breath and reached into his breast pocket to pull out the betrothal ring he had purchased in London. Ornately engraved gold ivy surrounded the band, twining itself around a single ruby. Beautiful in its originality, just as Molly was. “Molly Hooper, will you be my wife?”

Immediately, she nodded, a beaming smile on her teary face. “Yes, of course I will, you dear, silly man!” Slipping the ring on her finger, he jumped up and caught her into his arms. But before he could kiss her as he so desperately wanted to, they were assaulted by three small girls who were overjoyed and insistent upon seeing the ring and hugging their mother-to-be.

The youngest, Genevieve, in her arms and Gwen and Georgina burrowed in her skirts, Molly’s smile could have rivaled the sun for its warmth and brightness. Seeing them all together, his family, he knew finally listening to his heart was the greatest decision he had made. His kiss could wait.

Catching his eye, Molly leaned her cheek atop Genevieve’s downy curls and sighed happily. “I love you, too."


End file.
